“Fine. Find someone in California. We don’t need anyone from around here. Better to start fresh anyway. All right. Get back to work.”
He looked startled but rose. “I’ll get interviews scheduled.”
“You do that.”
When he left, she tried to take a few deep breaths, but her chest was too tight. Her eyes burned, as well. As if she were going to cry, which she wasn’t. What did she care if she had a reputation? She’d faced worse as she’d grown the company. She was a woman and not from around here—proving herself had taken years.
She wasn’t a bitch, but let them think she was. Let them be afraid. They were all idiots and she would prove them wrong in the end.
She started to rise to get herself coffee only to realize she was actually crying. Frustrated with herself and her silly hurt feelings, she sat back down and waited for the emotional outburst to pass.
She was better than all of them, she reminded herself. Smarter, more determined, more willing to do what others wouldn’t. That was why she always won. Tears were useless. What she needed instead was a plan.
twenty-five
Once harvest ended, the real work began for Mackenzie. She oversaw the beginning of fermentation, checking on the progress daily. When she wasn’t prowling around the tanks, she was at her computer, transferring her notes to the files she kept on all the varietals.
The sound of saws, nail guns and compressors made it hard to concentrate. After trying to ignore the commotion, Mackenzie and Bruno had agreed that working in the offices was going to be impossible until the construction was done. They’d rerouted the phone lines and had sent the office staff to the space they’d rented in town, and the two of them had set up their computers on her new dining room table.
Bruno had insisted on buying a piece of glass to cover the surface, so their equipment wouldn’t damage Four’s exquisite painting. There were file cabinets in the corner and printers on two of the chairs. They were crowded, but Mackenzie didn’t mind. This was going to push her and Bruno toward being a team.
There were a thousand things to get done. The office remodel, which was underway. Once fermentation and clarifying were finished and the wine was aging in the barrels, she had to make decisions about the vineyards. Did she want to keep everything as it was? Make changes? Grafting took time, although the rootstock was strong and healthy.
She’d never been an owner before, so had never had to deal with all the details. Despite finishing with harvest, she was having trouble relaxing enough to sleep. They really had to start making decisions.
“We have to talk about what to do with the library wines,” she said, glancing across the table, her mind spinning with all they had to consider. “Some can stay where they are, but some need to be sold in the next year or so. And the tasting room needs serious work. You’re right about hiring someone to manage that, along with the retail space, assuming we have some. Which I think we should. I mean, why just sell wine when people will buy knickknacks and kitchen stuff? Plus there’s a wine club. Do we want to start one? It’s probably too soon, but we should be collecting names. And what about selling our wines in restaurants? We could offer private brands for a few years while we’re getting on our feet. Either exclusive or we provide the wine and they label as their house wine, although that might be a price-point problem.”
She paused for breath.
Bruno looked up from his computer. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“We don’t have to make any of those decisions today. Get settled into the new software and think about the wines. Breathe. We’ll deal with the rest of it over the next few months.”
“But we just paid eight million dollars for a winery. We need money coming in.”
“It will happen. Trust me.”
“But it seems like a good time to panic. Shouldn’t we do that together?”
He smiled. “No panic. It’s going to be fine.”
“You said something about China. What’s happening with that? Are we—”
She noticed that he was looking past her, out the front window. She turned in her seat and saw a familiar car parking behind hers. The driver’s door opened and Barbara stepped out.
“Ugh,” she said, coming to her feet. “That can’t be good.”
“Maybe she wants to be friends again.”
She sighed. “Really? What are the odds?”
“Slim. I’ll step out to give you some privacy, but I’ll stay close. Scream if you need help.” He paused. “Maybe I should go get my shotgun.”
Despite the apprehension tightening her chest, she smiled. “Do you own a shotgun?”
“No, but getting one is now on my to-do list.”
He opened the front door as Barbara stepped up to knock.
“Barbara.”
“Bruno.”
He flashed a smile. “That was meaningful. Enjoy your visit.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Leave the front door open.”
Mackenzie nodded as she faced her soon-to-be-former mother-in-law.
“This is unexpected.”
“I can imagine. May I come in?”
Mackenzie thought briefly about searching the other woman’s bag for explosive devices. She stepped back but left the front door open as Barbara entered.
Barbara glanced at the computers on the dining room table.
“Can’t afford an office?”
“We’re in the middle of a remodel,” Mackenzie told her. She waved to the sofa. “Have a seat.”
Barbara shook her head. “I won’t be here that long.” She pulled a piece of paper from her purse, then passed it over.
The room went in and out of focus as Mackenzie absorbed the number on the check.
“Three million dollars?” She looked at Barbara, hoping she was doing a decent job of faking nonchalance. “I assume there’s something you want in exchange?”
“Money must be tight,” Barbara said. “Bruno’s loaded, but you’re not. I would guess every penny you’re getting from your overly generous divorce settlement is tied up in the winery. This would help you sleep at night.”
“I sleep just fine,” she lied, handing back the check.
Barbara didn’t take it. “You don’t know what I want.”
Because her soon-to-be-former mother-in-law wanted something. It was the only reason she would stop by.
Mackenzie looked at her, at the familiar features, at the cold expression that had once been so warm and welcoming. Had any of it been real? Had she been an actual person to Barbara? Had their relationship ever been more than a means to an end? Not that she would ask any of those questions—mostly because she didn’t want to hear the answers.
Mackenzie held in a sigh. “Just go. We have nothing more to say to each other.”
“Hear me out. What I want has nothing to do with you. There’s nothing you have to give up. All I want is for you to sign away the baby’s rights to Bel Après.”
She knew she shouldn’t be surprised, but the words still found her soft underbelly and dug in deep. “We’re talking about your grandchild.”
Barbara shrugged. “Sign away the baby’s inheritance and the check is yours. It’s a good deal. There are already five grandchildren. Yours makes six. The three million is a sure thing. Invest it and your child will be a multimillionaire. The winery divided seven ways is going to be worth less.”
Mackenzie stared at the check. Barbara was right—until the settlement from her divorce, she wasn’t just broke, she was broke with a two-million-dollar bridge loan. It would be easy to cash the check and have it all. Her kid would inherit Painted Moon—what did Bel Après matter?
Only her baby was family and that should matter. Her baby was going to have cousins and aunts and uncles. Her baby was going to belong—something Mackenzie had wanted her whole life, something she’d
thought she had. Only she’d been wrong.
She carefully tore the check in half and handed the pieces to her mother-in-law.
Barbara’s mouth tightened with anger. “You’ll do anything to get back at me, won’t you?”
Mackenzie sighed. “This isn’t about you. It’s about belonging and connection. I never wanted the money. I wanted to be a part of something.”
“You will never be a part of Bel Après. Never!”
“Maybe not, but my child will be.”
* * *
Barbara sat alone in her dining room, bridal magazines spread out all around her. It was the middle of a workday, but she’d had an appointment with Stephanie to discuss the wedding and, ridiculously, she’d come home to be there in case her daughter showed up. Which she hadn’t.
“Not a surprise,” Barbara murmured, thinking that her children always let her down. Of course if Stephanie had shown up, Barbara would have tossed her out on her butt, but still. She should have been here. Apparently quitting her job also meant not working on the wedding. Well, fine. Barbara could do it all herself.
She had a master list of what needed to be done. The entire process was choosing and ordering—hardly a mental challenge. She would take an hour or so, finalize her decisions and make a few phone calls. But even as she picked up the first checklist, she wondered what was the point of a big party. So she could show off her happiness to her friends and family? Right now she didn’t feel the least bit happy.
The sense of being adrift wasn’t like her. Whenever things got bad, she pulled herself together and managed the problem. She was strong. She was used to being the only one who did what had to be done. Only this time, she couldn’t summon the will.
She couldn’t believe Mackenzie had turned down the money. No, that wasn’t true. Honestly, she’d expected no less. Mackenzie had always had courage and strength and a moral compass. In some ways, Barbara thought grimly, Mackenzie was the most like her. She saw what had to be done and waded in through the muck and did it.
She heard her front door open and the sound of footsteps in the foyer. For a second, her spirits lightened as she imagined Stephanie had come to apologize. Barbara told herself she would be stern but forgiving, telling her daughter that she had to—
“Hello, Barbara.”
Not Stephanie, she thought, holding a sigh. Instead her youngest stood in front of her. As always, Catherine’s choice of clothing was questionable, at best. Her blouse—a pretty sea-green color—was acceptable but her cropped pants were covered in quilted fish the size of dinner plates. The fish were three-dimensional with fins that stuck out and waved as Catherine moved. Her shoes continued the fish motif. They were covered in sequins that created a fish-scale pattern.
The outfit was nearly outrageous enough to distract Barbara from her disappointment.
“Why are you here?”
Catherine smiled. “To help with the wedding. Stephanie and I talked about it, and we agreed given what has happened, you wouldn’t want to work with her, so I volunteered to come in her place.”
“You decided amongst yourselves but no one thought to check with me?” she asked. “How incredibly typical.”
Catherine pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “Do you want Stephanie planning your wedding?”
Yes, of course she did. Stephanie might not be the most talented person, but she had offered and Barbara had expected her to see her commitment through. Her sense of being abandoned was nothing more than an extension of her daughter’s broken promise.
“I don’t need anyone’s help,” Barbara snapped. “Certainly not yours.”
Instead of bristling, Catherine smiled. “Oh, Barbara, how difficult you always make things. Where’s the fun in planning your wedding alone? Let me take care of some of the little things.” She held up her hand. “I know we don’t have the same taste in anything.”
“You have no taste. You want to dazzle everyone with your originality and end up looking ridiculous.”
Catherine’s smile never wavered. “I promise to be completely conventional. As the bride, your decisions are the ones that matter. I’m here to help, nothing more.”
Perhaps all that was true, but she wasn’t the daughter Barbara wanted. At least Stephanie had managed several parties, so she knew what she was doing. But she’d left. Like Mackenzie.
That was the real loss, Barbara thought, and the source of her emptiness.
“I miss her, too,” Catherine said quietly.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You were thinking about Mackenzie. You had to be. You got so sad. She is a huge part of this family and we—”
“She’s nothing to this family and nothing to me. We’re better off without her. She can’t be trusted, and when she fails, we’ll celebrate.”
Catherine shook her head. “I’ll never understand why, if you loved her best, you treated her the way you did. She might not have been born into this family, but she was the heart of us. We’re never going to be the same—you most of all.”
Catherine’s mouth straightened into a flat line. “It must be hard to be you, Barbara. To be so unrelenting in your harshness, to always assume the worst. Living like that would crush my soul.”
Barbara glared at her. “Get out.”
“You’re right.” Catherine rose. “What was I thinking? You can’t accept a gift, even one given freely. An act of kindness must be like an attack. Which makes your relationship with Giorgio so confusing. Why do you let him in and no one else? Is it because he’s a man? Or is it that you know, in the end, it’s never going to last?”
“You will leave here immediately,” Barbara shrieked, coming to her feet and pointing to the door. “Get out right now!”
“You’re going to drive him away. I’m sorry about that because he really seemed to make you happy. I wish you could be different.” Catherine smiled. “But I’m sure you say the same thing about me.”
With that, she left, her fish pants flapping as she went. Barbara waited until the door closed before sinking into the chair and covering her face with her hands. Her daughter’s words echoed in the room, mocking her.
“It’s not me,” she yelled back. “It’s everyone else. It’s always been everyone else.”
She swept the lists and magazines to the floor, then picked up her coffee mug and threw it against the wall. Even as the dark liquid stained the paint, she got up and walked out.
She would go to the office, she told herself. Things made sense there, and if that started to change, she would spend the rest of the day figuring out a way to make Mackenzie pay.
* * *
“I’ve had a lot of success with corporate events,” Stephanie said, feeling her interview nerves calm down as she spoke. “Weddings are an excellent source of revenue, but my main focus has been the retail store in the tasting room.”
Elias, the general manager for a local winery, flipped through her portfolio. She’d included samples of her promotional material, pictures of displays and menus from events she’d pulled together.
Everything she’d read about interviews and getting a job said to always go in fully prepared but not to appear too eager. She was doing her best to show her capable side, while keeping the urge to beg with “Oh, please, oh, please, hire me!” tucked away. Her financial situation wasn’t dire, and if this didn’t work out, she would find another “opportunity,” but it would be so great if Elias thought she was exactly what he was looking for.
Elias closed the large folder and looked at her. He was in his midfifties, with graying hair and glasses.
“I know your mom,” he said.
Stephanie smiled. “Everyone does.”
He didn’t smile back. “The few times she’s mentioned you, she hasn’t been complimentary.”
Stephanie told herself not to react to that. She
kept her expression neutral and hands relaxed.
“I figured she was just being herself. Barbara rarely has anything nice to say about anyone. Except Mackenzie, of course.”
Stephanie nodded. There was no need to panic. She’d known there was a very good chance that her mother had trashed her over the years. People understood that and would dismiss her words. Right?
“But this makes me wonder,” he said, tapping the folder before opening it. “Maybe she’s not wrong.”
Stephanie felt her eyes widen. “I don’t understand.”
He pulled out a flyer for an end-of-season sale seven years ago. He drew out a second one that looked almost identical.
“This is from last year. You used the same flyer. Now, I don’t have a problem with recycling work, but you put both of them in the material you wanted to show me. I’m assuming you consider this your best work. So why two of the same? A simple mistake maybe. I don’t know.”
She felt her cheeks start to burn. How could she have missed that?
“The work from when you first started is fresh and energetic,” he continued. “But later, there’s nothing original. What’s the deal?”
She wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or if she was supposed to answer. Fortunately, he kept talking.
“Every job has parts that are boring. I get that. But you weren’t even trying. Worse, you brought me proof of that. You have a great plan for selling library wines, but we’re not Bel Après. We’re a high-volume, low-cost winery. If it’s in a bottle, it’s getting sold. Our customers don’t care about things like library wines. They want a seasonal bottle with Santa on the label.”
He pushed the folder toward her. “You should know that, Stephanie. You spent all your prep time thinking about what you wanted to say but very little thinking about what I wanted to hear.”
“I researched the winery,” she whispered, an amazing feat, considering she was barely able to breathe. Humiliation burned through her body. “I know how much you had in sales and where you’re placed in retail.”
The Vineyard at Painted Moon Page 27
